{"id":696,"date":"2003-10-27T23:00:00","date_gmt":"2003-10-28T06:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.chocolatemussolini.com\/cm\/default.asp?n=112"},"modified":"2003-10-27T23:00:00","modified_gmt":"2003-10-28T06:00:00","slug":"like-yah","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/queenofsubtle.com\/cm\/?p=696","title":{"rendered":"Like yah."},"content":{"rendered":"

Dear Friends:<\/p>\n

Working in the outer-outer (read: superwhite) suburbs pisses me off on a regular basis, but today was the first day I thought I might actually have to kill to make things right.<\/p>\n

I was sitting, no, lounging at Starbucks today at lunch, reading my book, Empire Falls<\/i>, which is taking me forever due to the fact that it’s really not that great, and eating my black bean spread and soy cheese on hardtack ‘bread’ sandwich. Because I know how to party. Anyway, it took me no less than half a second to detect the presence of evil. The first indication was her voice, which was just the right timbre to be seriously threatening the structural integrity of the building. I did my best to ignore it, but it was impossible, due to the sheer weight and volume of the darkness she brought to everything around her. So I did the only thing I could do in such a situation: I got out my little notebook and scribbled down everything she said, while pondering just how much I could possibly hate a perfect stranger.<\/p>\n

I can’t really describe this woman, because I was blinded by my hate. She had, um, blonde hair, in a ponytail, I think. At least 80% of her vocabulary was made up of two words: ‘yeah’ (pronounced sort of like ‘yah’, but not that Minnesota ‘yah’, something entirely different and specific to her), and ‘like’, and she has the queeniest lisp I’ve ever heard. Her husband (Ryan) looked like a high school football player 15 years after the fact, with spiky blonde hair and a sports-team sweatshirt (I don’t know which; aren’t all sports the same?) and a shiny pink face like he had just been scrubbed with a firm-bristled brush. His voice reminded me of Ernie from Sesame Street, post-puberty, and drunk. He slurred. And he said ‘yah’ in exactly the same way as his wife, which makes me suspect they were not only spouses, but siblings.<\/p>\n

They were there discussing plans for their custom-designed home with a very nicely-dressed and friendly architect who clearly wanted to see them both dead. Here are some snippets from their conversation.<\/p>\n

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… this, like, closet with a large, like, island. Because Ryan<\/i> is big<\/i>. And when he, like, packs his suitcase, he needs to, like, put it on<\/i> something.<\/p>\n

I want a huge, like, bathroom. Like, all the bathrooms have bathtubs, so this one should, like, have a shower<\/i>. Like, an all glass<\/i> shower. With really really nice hinges or something. And, like, all windows<\/i>, for air flow, and, like, light.<\/p>\n

(Ryan) The fridge is like part of the kitchen, you know?<\/p>\n

Yah, and we’d prefer, I’d prefer, actually, like, a wall of sinks. Like, I spend soooo<\/i> much time in the bathroom. And Ryan hates to move. You know, like, he just wants everything right there<\/i>. Like, the closet. With the island, like, he hates<\/i> to move.<\/p>\n

Can we, like, add a window here? And, like, here? Cause we’re just thinking, like, steam, and stuff.<\/div>\n

I listened to these people for 45 minutes, which would qualify me for sainthood if I wasn’t free to go at any time. Instead, I decided to make the best of it. The architect clearly wasn’t getting the point. However, I have excellent listening skills, so I was able to interpret, to read between the ‘likes’, as it were, and I have filtered their home dreams down to this very basic list:<\/p>\n

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